


both feet on the ground

by doublejoint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: The finish wears out of the floorboards, and Sanji is sentimental.
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	both feet on the ground

The finish is wearing away from the  _ Sunny _ ’s dining room floor. It’s only in certain places, and only visible in the right light, in focus when the sun magnifies itself through the porthole at certain times of day, and then gone again when Sanji turns on the overhead lights or when the sun’s shining off the sky and water and coming back around. Sanji keeps meaning to talk to Franky about it, and even if he refinishes it better than before, it will wear away again, eroding like sea-battered rocks in the spots where Luffy stands, where he kicks the floor under the table, and in the smaller spots right next to those where Sanji ends up standing more and more now. 

It’s obviously better that they have linoleum in the kitchen itself (Sanji’s seen so many wooden floors in ship’s kitchens with the finish has worn away the wood to a dull grey, shitty splinters cutting into soles of shoes; the kitchen in the  _ Merry _ , such as it was, was reaching that point near the end) but it would still be nice to have a stamp on the floor, if not a rough outline of everyone’s feet, more or less, in front of the fridge, then his own feet in front of the burners on the stove he uses most often and Luffy’s, more recent and less worn, the counterpoint to the dining room.

It’ll all be uniformly unworn again when they get the wood refinished. It’s not something Sanji should get hung up on, not when sooner or later Franky will figure out how to make some kind of unbreakable finish. That’s not the point really, or not all of it, anyway. It’s like a thumbprint pressed into the top of a cookie, or like the particular wake of a boat, eventually subsiding into uniformity, but, while it’s there, unique. They were there, in those particular spots; this boat will always belong to Luffy and to their crew, but the scuffing on the floorboards--in particular--marks more than a logo painted on the sail or the particular slope of the deck. It is not just a boat that exists, but a boat on which people live, with particular spaces their feet will always go. Sanji sighs. Stupidly sentimental of himself. 

He checks the stove. The broth is still simmering in the stock pot, as it should; there will be enough for lunch and a bit for later. Sanji tucks his hand into his pants pocket, fishing with his fingers until he snags his lighter and pulls it out. He leans against the counter, just the right height for the buttons on his back pockets not to scratch at the granite, fingers on his free hand curling around the edge, and reaches up to light the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The door swings open, and he pauses. It’s Luffy, just Luffy.

“Hey, Sanji.” His smile is bright, voice brighter, and Sanji grips the counter so hard the corner presses into his palm. “What smells so good?”

“Broth,” says Sanji. “And ham in the oven.”

It’s as if he’s the one with infinitely-extending limbs, that he’s reached out invisibly with them and snapped Luffy back with how fast Luffy gets over and reaches for the oven door. Sanji blocks it with his leg, moves over to block it with the rest of his body; Luffy could try harder to get in--but before he does, Sanji grabs his wrists, then his hands. He might still use his feet (and he has, before) but he doesn’t; he knots his fingers in Sanji’s, one palm pressing against the lighter still in Sanji’s hand. 

“It’s not done,” Sanji says, too late, probably, but saying it makes Luffy’s smile widen like rising bread. 

He presses his knees to Sanji’s, then his torso to Sanji’s torso, and Sanji curses the layers of his clothes and his apron and then Luffy leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth opposite the cigarette. Sanji turns his head, pressing more of their mouths together, as much as he can,and with their hands still wrapped around each other, curling his arm around Luffy’s waist.

“I’m hungry,” Luffy says, before he’s even got his heels on the ground, only a little petulant, and still not letting go of Sanji’s hands.

Sanji doesn’t want to let go, but the broth needs to be stirred; he can smell that it’s getting close to done, though. He pulls his right hand away, depositing the lighter on the counter, and then Luffy steps away, giving him space enough to work. He removes the top of the stock pot; the steam and the aroma greet him--yes, nearly there. He ladles a small portion out to taste, waits for it to cool just a bit; it’s as expected, needs nothing but a little more time, ten minutes or so. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know exactly where Luffy is, over his shoulder, when he ladles a little more out for Luffy.

“It’s good!”

Luffy leans his chin against the back of Sanji’s shoulder as Sanji replaces the lid of the stock pot; he’s got everything else prepared to drain the stock to start the risotto when everything’s ready, and he’s got nothing else to do but to stay here, lean back into Luffy. The sound of ignition, flint on steel, almost startles him, as Luffy raises the lighter up to Sanji’s cigarette. Sanji lowers the angle of his head to meet the flame. 

“Thank you.”

Luffy presses the lighter back into Sanji’s hand, and Sanji drops it back into the pocket of his pants. Luffy’s arms wrap around Sanji’s waist, pulling him in, Luffy’s face pressed into the back of his shirt. Sanji’s heart picks up its pace, but he feels somehow calm, and he knows it’s got nothing to do with the nicotine he’s breathing in. Their feet won’t leave so much as a scuff on the linoleum, but they’ll know they stood here. They’ll stand here again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just reread WCI and my feelings are overflowing.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
